Caught in the Storm
by greysanatomiac007
Summary: Meredith works as a doctor in Gulf Breeze. Derek works as a big shot surgeon in New York. When a giant storm threatens the community, Derek is sent as an extra set of hands to help the town. Meredith is used to running from people and not accepting help, will she be willing to make an exception? Will she let Derek in? Read this story to find out :)
1. Chapter 1

**_Caught in the Storm_ is a work of fiction. I do not own anything. All characters, pictures, and/or songs that are contained in this work of fiction do not belong to me. Any characters, pictures, and/or songs that resemble those that are in the show Grey's Anatomy or otherwise do not belong to me. Please read and review, I have been toying with this idea for a while. I had previously posted this story on another GA website a long time ago, but decided to edit it and post it here as well. It picks up a bit slowly, but bear with me! **

**Hope you enjoy! :)**

Chapter One

The air was thick with humidity—so thick you could reach out and touch it. Thick enough that it took extra effort to inhale it and break it down it into the life- sustaining oxygen the lungs needed to keep working. Trying to breathe this thick, heavy air was even more difficult when one was running for miles on end in the deep sand along the beach. The only way running was possible at all this morning, was because of the breeze that cut through the thick, muggy substance. It was just enough to allow one to breathe it in. But even the breeze wasn't enough to make this bearable. Only a crazy person or an obsessed runner would have even tried to keep up her daily routine in these conditions. But for some, running was as necessary as breathing. It certainly was for her. And so it must be done.

The sun was alternately peeking in and out from behind the scattered grey clouds, dappling the beach with its rays, and then hiding, as if to make sure its handiwork had been appreciated. A lone seagull flew along the shore looking for its breakfast. So far, he had been disappointed. There were no ships or sailboats on the horizon. The waves lapped at the shore as they always did, the grey water slowly slipping away this morning as the tide pulled out. Even the ocean seemed to want to leave the beach today. The scene was desolate, lonely, dark and foreboding.

Aside from the hungry seagull, the beach was completely deserted. While it was never crowded this early in the morning, there were however, a few stray souls out to walk, drinking in the morning as it unfolded, the waves gently lapping onto the sand. Not today. Except for the lone runner, pushing herself to follow her course, and finish her run, fight through the pain in her chest, fighting to breathe in the cool, morning air. Her internal struggle, the motivation she needed to keep moving, to not look back. Those who knew her—even those closest to her —would have just assumed this was like any other morning run for her. She looks healthy and fit. But inside, she was miserable.

Inside herself, only she could feel the pain. Of inhaling the muggy air, the feeling as though she was wandering off in her mind, even though she's on her usual path. She was fighting to clear her head of her fears, fight them, so that she can feel a slice of normality through her pained body. She was fighting a losing battle though, the battle to forget the memories that always closed in upon her, each and every time, there was news of a very bad storm approaching. It was a futile fight, and she knew that. As long as she's breathing, she's never going to be able to forget, to wash away the memories, the dreams, the fears. They're what make a person, but they're also what tears a person apart.) As she neared her destination, the lonely runner chastised herself for the struggle. _You should be able to do this without struggling. Today is just like any other day. You run, five or six days a week, and twice as far. Why is this a struggle now? Why the pain? What are you wimping out? You call yourself a runner… it's pathetic!_

…

As she reached the wooden steps that led to the house, she flopped down onto the sand, preparing to untie her shoes. She propped her elbows up on her bent knees, letting her head fall towards the sand, breathing in and out deeply to catch her breath again. She knew she should stretch and cool down, _but knowing and doing, are two entirely separate things._ She figured she'd done the hard part—the painful, slow, off-beat running. Today was not a day to expect more from herself. But when did she ever cut herself any slack? Never. Not even today. She still wouldn't stretch. But she'd berate herself about it. As her breathing returned to something resembling her normal intake, she raised her head and peered out over the horizon. The view was fairly ordinary except for the absence of boats and lack of people down on the tiny, public beach. It was as if she were the only person on an abandoned planet; no sounds, and no signs of human life. Only the waves, lapping at the shore, pretending that they wouldn't soon become horrid monsters, lashing out at everything within their reach. On a day like that, the beach isn't the serene place people like it to be. It becomes like her internal struggles, a mess of waves, wind and sand.

As her eyes travelled up to look at the sky, she found it unremarkable. To the naked eye, this appeared to be just an ordinary morning on the coast. Ironic, she thought, that a storm could be brewing and growing and closing in on them, yet the sky was so calm and ordinary. It didn't even appear to be threatening rain. But she knew the rain was coming-rain and wind and the fury of the storm.

In her opinion, meteorologists on the whole were overpaid pretty people who read what their staff learned from their research and saw on their radar and forecasting models. But even the real morons in the bunch, had a hard time missing a storm like the one that was coming. Where it would go was the biggest question. Most were predicting landfall an hour or two west of here. Even so, the weather here would be difficult, and the people in town would be in danger. But the models showed a wide path and noted that the storm could shift direction quickly. She shuddered involuntarily when she thought, even for a moment, of what it might be like if the storm came closer.

Any sane person would've left when they put out the evacuation order, put up the plywood on the windows, and moved everything that might go airborne, inside before locking up, and getting caught in the snarls of traffic, leaving the coast for the safer inland territory, would have listened to their never-failing instincts, instincts that were screaming that this was not a storm to be taken lightly. But she has long given up pretending to be a sane person. Not about storms. Not ever again. As she pulled her aching body up off the sand, and brushed off the back of her shorts, she sighed and turned to climb the steps. A run was usually invigorating for her—the best way to start her day. But today's run had left her feeling tired and slow. She knew she'd shake its weight off of her shoulders eventually, but it appeared that doing so was going to require some effort on her part. Effort she didn't feel like expending.

She sat down on the bench, untying her running shoes, hoping that slumping forwards to do so, would stretch her back out a bit. Sitting back up, shoes in her hand, she moved to put them in the cabinet they were always stored inside of, and headed for the wooden shower stall they had installed outside. She stripped down, dropping her sweaty, disgusting clothes into a pile on the floor. Her runs always left her sandy and dirty, showering outside simplified life in so very many ways. It had been in the works for a while.

A contractor had suggested adding a new wing to her house, equipped with a mudroom, shower, and storage space. She laughed and told him that she really just wanted an outdoor shower, and a new entrance to her laundry. She wasn't looking to build a mansion, equipped with every amenity. She wasn't a resident of Pensacola, she couldn't afford Pensacola. He had appeared frustrated with her limited vision, he wouldn't make a very big profit from it. Yet, he had complied with her wishes, and whilst convinced she could've done it herself, he found a local construction worker and plumber, more than willing to take on the task. She smiled at the complete simplicity and pleasure of being able to strip off one's clothes outside, and shower with the sun shining down and the sky overhead. It was much like bathing in the ocean, only without the grit and grime and sand and salt that brought with it. And she could be naked outside, without having the neighbors call the police and have her arrested—that was a nice bonus.

…..

She sighed as the hot water hit her cool, sweat-laden skin. The contrast was wonderful and relaxing. She began the mundane tasks of washing her hair and her body, willing herself to relax and rise up from the fog that had been weighing it down on her run. Her shower complete, she donned a large towel from the cabinet and made her way along the wooden walkway to her laundry room. The shoulder-high wooden privacy screen kept her mostly hidden from view and blocked the wind a bit. Inside, she threw her dirty clothes directly into the washer and started a load of laundry. She made her way upstairs and put on some clothes. _Now what?_ She thought. She wasn't on call today, so there wasn't an excuse for her to go to the hospital.

The storm wouldn't begin to hit until late in the evening, giving her an entire day to waste. She was unaccustomed to having free time, it always makes her feel uneasy. Considering she still has to put up plywood, and haul the patio furniture inside, her day will be pretty much full. _Well_ , she considered, _you still have to put the plywood up and haul the patio furniture inside. That should keep you busy._ But doing those things meant facing reality and thinking of the approaching storm. And she wasn't ready to do that yet.

At heart, she was an avoider—especially when things got really emotional or threatened to get under her skin. Avoiding difficult, painful situations was second nature to her. As was running. She'd spent her whole life running from memories, too painful to remember, her mother, running from the loneliness she felt. She ran when the mood struck, or when things got so painful, that she needed to run for a change. Staying somewhere, required patience and endurance, commitments she had never been good at. She never had any of those qualities, hold out in any one place for too long. She's a runner. It's who she is, what she does. It's her thing.

By this point in her life however, she had literally stopped running to different places. While she didn't feel firmly rooted yet, she had stayed here longer than anywhere in her adult life. After her time overseas and the cross-country move here, she had lived in this town for five years. So now, instead of literally picking up and moving away from her problems, she stayed in town and ran along the beach, always returning to her home and the new life she'd made here. She had learned—albeit slowly—that running didn't help you escape your problems at all. No matter how hard you tried. And she had surely tried. It was the storm that had unearthed that old gripping fear that made her want to jump in her car and move somewhere else. Only when the storms came, was she tempted to leave the comfortable-if not glowingly happy-life she had made for herself. This was because she had decided to stop running-the moving kind of running, anyway. She had moved here and decided that her days of running away were over. She had purposefully selected this tiny town as her home, so that she could stay, and face her fears and her demons and stop running away from her life, and her loss, and all that had happened to her. Facing the storm was the very reason she lived here. Knowing that, and believing it was the right thing for her was easy on most days, when the sun shone down. Life was good. Better than it had been. Holding onto these facts as the storm approached, was the hardest thing she's ever done.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Her work storm-proofing her house finally complete and another shower taken, she was left at loose ends once again. She called her closest neighbors and made sure their homes were ready. Everything seemed to be in order. No crisis and not even a little errand to keep her busy. There was always something they needed. How could they not need her help at all?

A little while later, her friend Cristina called to yell at her for not flying up to Atlanta to "party and do kick ass surgeries" for the weekend. She knew that Cristina had known already that she wouldn't leave, but she loved her for trying to cheer her up anyway. The monotony and foreboding and lack of busyness were making her a crazy person. Crazier than she ever wanted to admit to being. Rattled, frazzled, frustrated, and a little desperate-not qualities any self-respecting surgeon would admit ever applied to her.

Sighing and needing to take any kind of action just to have something to do, she picked an object up off the coffee table. Fifteen minutes later, having skimmed through her latest medical journal, she sat on the sofa twiddling her thumbs.

It wasn't as if she didn't have more of a life than this. Yes, the life of a surgeon was confined and constrained by the demands of the work and its hours. But she had outlets other than running. Sadly, aside from her work helping out downtown, all of those things—the walks on the beach, watching the sunset with her neighbors and friends, teaching first aid and CPR to the lifeguards, they all revolved around the beach.

And with the wind already whipping around and the storm clouds finally visible on the horizon, the beach was no longer a kind and safe place to be. So she was stuck indoors with nothing to distract her. TV was not an option. She didn't watch TV—not even that Grant's Anatomy show that everyone at the hospital buzzed about. Her TV was just a visual distraction on the bookshelf across the room. Something else that collected dust. Something for others who visited who were accustomed to that sort of thing. Cristina watched her TV more than she did. TV was out. Books weren't any more promising at the moment. She didn't have a good book on hand that she hadn't already read several times—lately she didn't often have the energy to read after working all day.

Determined to find something to do, she dialed a familiar number. When he answered, she grunted "Anything yet?" He chuckled a bit before responding, "Not yet, Mer. It's still early."

"I know. I just...," she started to try to explain. He didn't need the explanation. And he knew she didn't want to admit how stressed out she really was.

"Storms make us all antsy. We've patrolled and prepared until there's nothing left for us to do either. You're welcome to come down here, but I'm afraid that the guys are just as bored and rattled as you are."

"No thanks," she said, realizing that what he said was true. They were all people who did things. Not having something to do was like a death sentence. The last thing she needed in that moment was to be around more people who were as bored and in need of something to do as she was.

"Hey," he continued, lowering his voice so that others around couldn't hear. "Don't sound so blue. Want me to come over? I bet I could distract you...find a few steamy ways to cheer you up..."

She laughed in spite of herself, "You never stop trying, do you?"

"For you? Never," he said, his voice still light, but his honesty not quite covered up completely.

"I'd better pass," she said, trying to sound more lighthearted than she was, "You have important things to do. Besides, you'd never recover from a good dose of me. I can guarantee that you're not man enough for that. And I can't leave the sheriff paralyzed in the face of a town emergency."

"You are so mean," he said, "Always teasing me."

"Yet you still keep trying," she said, smiling at him across the phone lines.

"But it made you smile," he said, "That's what I really wanted."

"Thanks," she said, "I needed that. See you later, OK?"

"OK," he said as they both hung up their phones.

As he hung up the phone, his heart clenched a bit. He'd tried to talk Meredith into leaving. She had Cristina's condo in Pensacola. It was still near the coast, but it was safer. They had argued when he had suggested that she stay there. He had almost manhandled her and taken her there himself, but he gave in when she dug in her heels and told him she didn't live in a police state, and he wasn't going to make her go anywhere. Not a police state yet, he thought, hoping it wouldn't come to anything like that. But he knew that he was weak where she was concerned. And she knew it, too. She didn't often take advantage of that weakness, but he knew that she was desperate to stay here and that she'd pull any punches necessary to make sure that happened.

Not that she had to pull any punches with him. She was his soft spot. Meredith was beautiful. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. He'd been blindsided the first day he met her. He fell instantly in love with her. And it only got worse as he got to know her better. Not only was she a knockout, she didn't seem to know it. And she was in fantastic shape—strong as an ox for such a tiny person and such a consistent runner that she had endurance to put everyone else in town to shame. She was smart and successful, too. As if her workload being a surgeon in Gulf Breeze weren't enough, she was the only doctor in town, so she spent much of her free time making house calls and giving first aid and treating everyone in the community who needed medical care. She wouldn't accept money for her services either. Those who insisted on paying her were told to make a donation to the city. Most people in this small coastal town didn't have much money to spare, but everybody made small donations to that fund when they could. And, as a result, without raising the tax rate, the town had been able to build an emergency medical building next to the elementary school. A building they'd be using tonight, he was certain.

And she would be there in it, working to help anyone who was injured or sick or in need of any medical attention. She had done those things before without the benefit of equipment or supplies or facilities. He could only imagine what she would be able to do with more at her disposal. He hoped that her services wouldn't be needed at all—that this would all literally blow over and make this evacuation seem like a silly idea. Nobody in Gulf Breeze ever evacuated anyway. They always stayed, and the town always survived—storms were just a fact of life for everyone there. So they all stayed despite the risk and the danger and the warnings. Even Meredith. Especially Meredith. He knew that nothing could make her leave in the face of the oncoming storm. And as much as he hated the helplessness that created in him, he knew there was nothing he could do-nothing except try to protect her and everyone else as much as possible. And pray. Lots of praying. He'd be doing lots of praying before the night was over.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The man sat silently in the front passenger seat of the police car as the deputy rambled on about the weather and asked questions about New York. "I've never been to New York. It sounds scary. I've lived my whole life in Gulf Breeze," he rambled on. Tired from his travels and eager to arrive at his destination, the passenger breathed deeply and tried to answer his questions. The deputy seemed nice enough and genuinely interested, but to a New Yorker, he seemed like an alien being. Nothing like any of the cab drivers or policemen he knew back home. Things in the big city were impersonal and all business. And he'd lived there so long that he expected things to be that way. He did make the effort to get to know his patients and their families, but most of them kept him at a comfortable distance. That was just the way things were. But this...this incessant stream of questions and friendly chatter in an accent so thick it almost required translation...this was new.

And he wanted new—that was his whole reason for being here. But this was borderline annoying. Well, he told himself. I'm just exhausted. If I weren't so tired...

He had been in surgery until the wee hours of the morning. And then he had to go home and pack for his trip. Catching an early flight to Atlanta, he'd been unable to sleep on the plane. So he'd been going on about four hours' sleep—not consecutive hours. He was accustomed to pulling long shifts and going on little sleep, but the travel must have been wearing on him or something.

"Huh?" he asked when the deputy got his attention.

"Have you ever been to Gulf Breeze before?" the man asked, smiling and proud of his hometown.

"No. This is my first trip," he answered honestly, hoping the man would take that quick, less than enthusiastic response as an excuse to remain quiet. No such luck.

As the driver chatted on about the sights and things the doctor could do while he was in town, the man's mind wandered back over his trip. Upon arriving in Atlanta, he had been whisked off to a hotel for the meeting. The federal agency responsible for emergency preparedness was pulling in teams of doctors from across the country to help with the fallout from the approaching hurricane. After Hurricane Katrina, they were determined to be as prepared as possible to help those left in the wake of the storm. They were shipping doctors to safe points all across the area just in case their services were needed. The people were given maps and manuals and supplies and emergency radios. And they were sent back to the airport for a late afternoon flight to their destinations.

He was one of those doctors who had volunteered to help. So he'd been flown to Gulf Breeze that day. His friends and family thought he was nuts. He'd heard more than one reference to mid-life crisis whispered among those who learned of his expedition to the deep South in the middle of what might turn out to be a big hurricane.

This wasn't a mid-life crisis. Well, maybe it was, but it was called for. He wasn't doing this to himself. He was reacting...reacting to an event that nobody should ever have to experience. Never mind that it had been six months since that day. It didn't make it any easier to deal with its after effects. He needed to do something...anything...to make a difference or to contribute to society. Because deep in his gut, he really wanted to murder a man. And he was a healer, not a killer. He just needed to prove that to himself.

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he tried to banish the vision from his mind. Desperate for anything else to think of, he focused again on the deputy's ramblings. Surprisingly, the deputy had taken a break—probably to breathe. Fearing he'd already missed the answer to this question, he plunged in anyway, "Ernie," he said, referring to the deputy as he had requested, "How much farther to Gulf Breeze?"

Ernie glanced over and then returned his attention to the road. "Twenty minutes or so," he said matter-of-factly. "Just through Ferrypass and over the bridge to Pensacola and then on over the other bridge to Gulf Breeze."

"Ferrypass?" he couldn't help asking.

"Yeah. We're not going by way of ferry boats," he said with a wink. "We normally would have just taken the big bridge over the causeway straight to Gulf Breeze, but there's still too many people evacuating. Traffic's a mess. Nobody goes this way anymore, so it will be much faster. Why? Do you need to stop or something?"

"No. I'm fine. Just curious," the man responded. He looked out over the water and tried to relax. Funny how gloomy and dark this place seemed. Not at all the white beaches and clear blue waters under an equally blue sky the way it was depicted in the travel brochures. He supposed stormy weather was an equalizer—it made every place look the same.

—

Just as the police car crossed the first bridge and entered Pensacola, Florida, Ernie's cell phone rang. Pulling to the side of the deserted road, he apologized, "Gotta take this. It's my wife." His passenger sat staring out the window and trying not to listen to the personal conversation. But it was difficult not to pay attention to the half of the conversation that he could easily overhear.

"Now? But...I know...But...Crap...I'll be there...Just hold on...I love you," he said as he clicked the phone shut. The man turned to face Ernie and said, "Sounds like you're in the dog house," grinning over at the deputy.

"No, but I will be. Um...Look. I know you're gonna think I'm crazy, and I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to..."

The man raised an eyebrow. This didn't sound good.

"You see. My wife's water just broke. She wasn't due for two more weeks. Anyway, it's our fifth child. Her labor keeps getting shorter. Last one was born in twenty-five minutes. I have to go. I can't miss our son being born. So I have to go back home."

"Okay," the man said, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe I can help."

"No. You don't understand. They need you out here. I'm supposed to deliver you to Gulf Breeze for the FEMA folks. I'll just leave you here. It's not a long walk—maybe a mile or can just leave your gear here and come back for it later. The sheriff's office is one of three brick buildings downtown. You can't miss it. It's on your right at the traffic light on this road. They can get you to Gulf Breeze."

"You're going to leave me here?" the man asked, looking around and seeing a very rural place and clouds that looked ready to burst forth with rain. His eyes bulged a bit and he swallowed hard. He wasn't exactly afraid, but he thought this seemed a little extreme, "Can't you just take me closer to town?"

"I can't. I really can't. I'm already pushing it. I have to go," Ernie said seriously. He jumped out of the car and removed the man's things, placing them beside the car.

Rolling his eyes and cursing his fate, the man got out of the car. "Sorry. Thanks," Ernie yelled as he ran back around. "Oh," he said as he remembered something important. "Ask for Hal. Tell Hal that Ernie sent you, and he'll get you to Pensacola."

Who the hell is Hal? he thought, but instead he opted to be more polite and specific. "Does Hal have a last name?" he asked, clearly annoyed at this point. "Yep. But I can't remember it. Everybody just calls him Hal." And with that, Ernie jumped into his car, turned on the lights and siren, made a U-turn, and sped back over the bridge and out of sight.

So there the man stood in the middle of nowhere on a deserted road on an island that was just a blink of an eye on a trip to someplace else. And he had no transportation and a hundred pounds worth of gear and luggage for which he was responsible. And he was at least a mile away from town. And the hurricane was coming. This was worse than the worst movie he could remember watching. For the first time since he left Manhattan, the reality of his situation settled in on him. What the hell was he doing here?


	4. Chapter 4

**Here is the next chapter! Sorry to keep you all waiting :)**

Chapter Four

As he stood and pondered his options, the doctor realized that he didn't have the luxury of taking time to make a decision. Pulling his rain gear from one of his bags, he donned it. Mile or not, there was little chance of him making it to town before the rain started and he'd be weighed down with all this gear. Frustrated, but realizing that he did not have any other options, he began the task of slinging bags over his shoulders and trying to distribute the weight as evenly as possible.

He was in shape—really good shape. He worked out with a trainer and ran a few days a week, but as strong and as in shape as he was, this was going to be difficult. Balancing the hanging bags as best he could, he leaned over to pick up the remaining two items—both of which were heavy. His own personal medical kit and the case they'd given him in Atlanta. Standing up slowly and remembering to bend his knees so that he wouldn't throw his back out immediately, he lifted his heavy load. He took a moment to inhale deeply and let his body judge its load before starting his slow walk into town. Groaning under the heaviness of the load, he reminded himself that this was an adventure, something to shake up the monotony of his pathetic existence. Adventure, huh? What the hell was I thinking?

He'd been right. Just as he drew close enough to make out the few street lights marking the lone intersection downtown off in the distance, the rain had begun. Almost instantly, the wind was howling and driving the raindrops into him. He was grateful for the protection of the bags. The exposed parts of his body were shrinking back in pain as they were bombarded with huge raindrops being propelled like little daggers straight at him. His visibility was shot. He just focused on staying on the edge of the road by looking down at the pavement right in front of him. His muscles strained with the weight, the pain, and the exhaustion that was settling in. Step after painful step, he made slow progress toward his destination. Had he not been so cold, tired, and miserable, he would have laughed at himself. As if any rain gear could keep this kind of rain out. He was thoroughly soaked. To make it worse, he had quite the blister on his right heel from the new boots he had bought for this expedition. One mile, my ass. It's been at least two. We're not in Manhattan anymore, he thought miserably.

After what seemed like three hours but was probably only one, the man arrived at a traffic light. He easily located the sheriff's station across the street and trudged over there. Throwing open the door, he strode inside. He knew he looked horrible and that he was dripping large puddles all over the clean floor, but he was surprised that everyone in the building stopped to gawk at him. A stranger, he reminded himself. This is a small town. They'll be wary of strangers.

As they eyed him suspiciously, he took a deep breath and looked around to see who was in charge. Nobody seemed to exude a sense of leadership; they all just kept staring at him. Nodding toward the older man on his right, he spoke up, "I need to talk to Hal," his words echoing through the eerily silent room.

"Hal's not here," the man said, not offering any more information.

"Is he coming back?" the stranger asked, hopeful that he would be.

"Later," the older man said. "What's your business with Hal?"

"I'm a doctor with FEMA. I need to get to Gulf Breeze. Ernie said that Hal could take me there."

"Ernie? Ernie Johnston from Pensacola PD? How the heck is he?" the man asked, immediately warming up to the stranger because he had mentioned his friend (he was not at all impressed by the reference to official FEMA business). "Has his wife had her baby yet? What is it...like number six?"

Taken aback by the amazing workings of the small town network and grateful for its capacity to spread information, the doctor relaxed a bit. "He left because she went into labor with number five."

"He'd better hurry. He almost missed the last one. Nancy reamed him out—it didn't matter that he was arresting a drunk driver. She almost left him for being so late getting there."

"That must be why he put me out on the side of the road by the bridge," the doctor said, smiling in spite of the ridiculous situation.

"You walked from the bridge with all of that?" the deputy asked. The doctor nodded.

"Well, here, let us help you unload," the deputy said, and a few of the men came over and took his bags from him. "Not sure when Hal will be back. We'll just put your things in this cell. You can bunk there for the night if need be."

"In a cell? You're not going to arrest the stranger from out of town just for stopping here, are you?" he said, half-joking.

"Get a load of the city slicker," the deputy said, "he's been watching too many bad movies with lousy Southern accents!" Leaning toward the doctor, he said softly, "We shoot Yankees first, ask questions later."

The doctor paled a bit before he noticed the gleam in the deputy's eye. "Sure," he said, attempting a chuckle that didn't sound frightened, but was relieved that he was not, in fact, in the middle of some scary movie.

"Name's Butch. That's Henry. Jack's in the back room loading supplies. You can grab a shower in back if you want. Hal might be a while."

"Derek. Thanks," the doctor said thoughtfully as he shook their hands. A shower sounded like a great idea. And with the storm approaching, it might be the last one he'd get for a while.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Despite the small size of the shower stall, Derek swore he had one of the best showers of his life in that sheriff's station. He stood motionless for the longest time, letting the very hot water rain down upon his naked body and allowing the steam to soothe his muscles and clear his mind. After his shower, Derek emerged from the bathroom with clean, dry clothes on. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in jeans and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up just short of his elbows. Clean and dry, his mood had improved considerably. He reminded himself that these people were being civil and friendly to him. He was still frustrated by not having reached his assigned location, but he realized that there wasn't much he could do about that. So that nobody would worry, he sent a message to the staff in Pensacola and in Atlanta, telling them of his delay and explaining that he was still trying to reach them. He also sent a message to his mom so that she would know he had arrived in Florida safely.

Caught up in his own thoughts and activities, he busied himself with putting his things back into his luggage. He was so focused that he failed to notice the flagrant stares being shot in his direction by the men at the station. It's probably best that he didn't pay attention to the glances being sent his way. However, in reality, it didn't matter because only a few minutes later, he was drawn into the kitchen by the noise of a very loud argument. _Surely they're not deciding to lock me up_ , he wondered as he quietly made his way to the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe, he tried to figure out what had prompted the argument.

As he watched the red-faced men bicker, he was amused. While the language would have been more colorful and completely rude back at home and the subject matter would have been much more technical, this argument could have happened in the hospital where he worked. It was clearly a case of two men blustering about something that neither of them knew how to remedy. He smirked as he listened to Butch rant and rave.

"We're in the path of a freaking hurricane and facing the likelihood that we won't eat or sleep for days and you can't even heat a can of soup? What are you—twelve or something?" he said, gesturing toward the pot and its burnt contents.

Jack immediately shot back, "Well, you didn't even know where to find the pot!"

And so the yelling continued-with little progress being made.

"Gentlemen," Derek said eventually, walking into the room and trying to exude a sense of calmness. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Jack here can't even heat up Campbell's soup. If Hal doesn't hurry back, we're all gonna starve! It's too stormy to ask Mona to bring us something to eat," Butch grumbled as he glared at the deputy.

"Hmmm...," Derek said as he breezed past them and opened the refrigerator. Not much, but they did have the basics—butter, milk, cheese, salad stuff. Moving to the pantry, he found some pasta and a loaf of bread.

Without saying a word, he pulled out the ingredients and started cooking. All of the men stood there awhile and stared, amazed by what they were watching. Hal could cook, but not like this. What was this guy—some sort of doctor and an iron chef? Shrugging and not wanting to stare, everyone except for Butch left the room. Feeling useless just standing there, he eventually started setting the table. Breaking the silence, he asked Derek what he wanted to drink—water, Coke, or iced tea.

"Iced tea," Derek said, as he focused on the meal before him.

"You know it's sweet tea, right?" Butch asked.

"Oh. Well...maybe water," Derek said, thankful not to have been greeted with what he considered to be syrup in a glass.

"Um...thanks for cooking," Butch said quietly.

"No problem," Derek said as he chopped vegetables for the salad.

"You know," Butch began hesitantly, "We're not at all opposed to having one of you around here."

"One of me?" Derek asked, turning to squint at the man in order to figure out what he was talking about. Giving up, he returned to his work on the salad.

"You know," Butch said, blushing a bit.

"No. I don't," Derek said, turning to face the man. This didn't sound good. Not good at all.

"Well, it's a small town, but we're pretty open-minded. To each his own, and all that..."

"Am I the first live Yankee who's ever set foot on this island or something?"

"No. You'rejustthefirstgayperson," Butch said as he crossed the room to find a basket for the bread, "notthatthere'sanythingwrongwiththat."

"YOU THINK I'M GAY?!" Derek asked, completely dumbfounded.

"Well. Gosh. No offense. But well, with that outfit...and the cooking...and that hair...It's kind of obvious," Butch started.

The spoon rattled down on the counter where Derek had thrown it. He strode up angrily to Butch and glared at him. It was obvious that a million thoughts were running through his mind. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he considered what he ought to do.

"Look," he spat at Butch, as he pushed up his sleeves and readied himself for battle, "I know I'm a stranger here. I didn't even plan to stop in this town. And I know I'm stuck here until one of you wizards figures out how to get me over the bridge to Gulf Breeze. And I know you're a freaking deputy or something, but back where I come from what you just said would give me every right to kick your freaking ass all over this one-stoplight town! Give me one good reason that I shouldn't mop up the floor with you!"

"Hey. Sorry. No disrespect," Butch began, realizing that he had some serious backpedaling to do. "And thanks for cooking for us. I was wrong. I see that now. I...I just wanted you to feel welcomed and comfortable here if you were, you know...that's all," Butch said sincerely.

"Well that's one hell of a welcome wagon you've got there, Butch," Derek said, finally relaxing a bit. He returned to the stove and started stirring the alfredo sauce, still steamed, but losing himself in the task of cooking in much the same manner he did in surgery. He used this ability to focus solely on the task at hand to help him relax and ignore the conversation that had just enraged him. Of course, cooling off from being that angry still took time.

In the thick silence that followed, Derek continued to fume and cook while Butch tried to figure a way out of the hole he'd dug for himself. Derek had almost calmed down enough to talk when he heard Butch snicker beside him. Shooting a glance sideways at the man, Derek realized that he was completely cracking up. "What's so freaking funny?" Derek demanded, ready to resume the battle.

Butch was in tears. He couldn't stop laughing. Derek grinned in spite of himself at the man's failing attempts to stem his laughter. Absentmindedly, he ran his right hand through his hair. Seeing Derek's attention to his hair, Butch convulsed with laughter.

"What?" Derek said, realizing what was so funny. "My hair is damned sexy. Women all over beg to run their fingers through it. Admit it. You're just jealous. You want my hair."

Butch was gasping and panting and guffawing over that last comment. Henry and Jack ran in to see what was so funny. When Derek explained that Butch, who was about 55 and more than a little overweight with a buzz cut, was jealous of his hair, the entire room broke into fits of laughter.

"You're alright, man," Butch said later as he slapped Derek on the back. The room rang out with laughter all over again. "You know, Butch," Derek said, dishing the teasing back at him in equal measure, "maybe you're the one. I mean, I know I'm hot, but other men seem to be able to handle themselves. Maybe you're the one with the big secret." Butch turned crimson and realized that protesting too much would only prolong his agony in this room of macho males. Muttering something about damned Yankees, he left the room under the pretense of cleaning up but it was really just an excuse to cool off and interrupt the barrage of slams Derek was sending his way. When he returned, Jack said grace, and the men enjoyed a lighthearted meal around the small table. As they cleaned up, Butch commented. "Well you do cook better than most women, Derek."

"Watch it, Betty," Derek joked, using Butch's new pet name for the first time. The camaraderie had sprung up without anyone really noticing. They were enjoying themselves more than anyone would have expected. This odd assortment of people who wouldn't likely have ever met under other circumstances were having a nice, ordinary meal. They had all but forgotten the approaching storm. It was, in fact, the actual calm before the storm.

And it ended abruptly when the door to the station flew open.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry about the delay of this chapter, the flu season has hit pretty hard this year. However, I am back and feeling much better! Let me know what you all think :)**

Chapter Six

As if he were being blown in by the wind and rain, Hal came storming into the station. Unlike earlier when Derek had stomped in and left them all dazed and speechless, Hal's appearance jolted everyone into action. He was drenched from the storm. The open door showed everyone inside that the storm had grown worse during their meal. It was ironic that none of them had noticed until that moment. They had become so distracted by the newcomer that they forgot about the raging storm.

As Hal threw off his useless rain gear, the blood on the front of his uniform became apparent. "Holy hell, Hal, what happened?" Butch barked, as he ran to his friend and helped him into a chair.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Hal muttered, but nobody believed him.

"You'd better let me be the judge of that," Derek said, pushing his way through the small group of men to examine the sheriff's injuries.

"Who are you?" Hal asked, not expecting to find a stranger in his station-especially a stranger who appeared to be taking charge of the situation.

"Doctor," Derek said absently, as he checked the wound that was the source of the bleeding and began looking elsewhere for other signs of injury.

"I'm fine," Hal said, trying to get up.

"What happened?" Derek asked, moving into Hal's space so that he didn't have room to stand. He checked his pupils, pulse, and extremities for other signs of problems. There didn't appear to be any, but he had to make sure.

"Dumbass Willy Franklin happened," Hal muttered. "Waited til the last minute to put up his plywood and fell off his ladder from a second story window. John and I put him on a backboard and took him to the shelter."

"Is he OK?" Jack asked.

"Don't know," Hal muttered.

"How did you hurt your arm?" Derek asked, trying to interrogate the patient.

"Piece of metal near his fall. It wasn't rusty or anything," Hal insisted.

"Anything else? Did you fall? Hit your head? Anything?"

"No. I'm fine. I have things to do. I just need to change clothes."

"You need to sit down. You need stitches. And this wound is deep and dirty."

"Mer can do that later. I just need some clothes."

"If you don't sit still, I'm going to sedate you. The town doesn't need a sheriff who's passed out in his jail cell during this storm. Give me 20 minutes. We'll have you all fixed up."

"I want Mer to do the stitching," Hal barked.

"Well, unless 'Mer' shows up here, you're stuck with me."

"Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Dr. Derek Shepherd, from Manhattan. I volunteered with FEMA to help out in Gulf Breeze. I didn't make it there because Ernie's wife went into labor early. I've been waiting for you to give me a ride, but your arm needs stitches. I can do this. And I can check on Willy when we're finished."

"What kind of doctor are you?" Hal asked, suspicion evident in his tone. He didn't need some out-of-town gynecologist stitching up his arm.

"Neurosurgeon. Chief of Neurosurgery for one of the top programs in the country. I think I can handle 15 stitches on your arm. I could do it in my sleep. You're lucky I'm here. The scar won't even be noticeable."

"Modest, too," Butch muttered, and he received a quick glare from Derek.

Just as Hal was about to speak, the phone rang. Jack answered and was hit with a flurry of cursing, questions, and screaming that left him speechless. He handed the phone to Butch, who didn't fare any better.

He held the phone a safe distance from his ear, and he could still hear what was said clearly. So could Hal from across the room.

"Put Hal on the phone or I'm coming over there," Meredith barked. "Stupid moron just left without letting me take a look at his injury."

"He's fine. There's a doctor here. He's stitching up his arm right now."

"It's a bad wound, Butch. Make sure he cleans it."

"He did," Butch reported.

"Not just the outside, Butch. He needs to clean it inside, too," Meredith demanded. "And Hal will need a tetanus shot, too."

"Did you clean it inside?" Butch asked Derek.

"Yes. Right after the tetanus shot," Derek said, irritated to be reporting on the results of such minor work.

"What is he, some ER doctor?"

"Nope. Neurosurgeon."

"Oh."

"Relax. Hal will be there later, and you can rip a hole in his other arm," Butch said encouragingly.

"I will. You tell him that other arm is mine. He knows better than to distract me with worries about him bleeding to death in a ditch when I'm busy with patients."

"You OK over there?" Butch asked out of genuine concern.

"Just swamped. Gotta go. Tell Hal to bring more surgical drapes, scrubs, and gloves—all the basics. Plus more anesthesia."

"OK," Butch said, but Meredith had already hung up.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

A few hours later, Derek was riding in the back of the SUV Hal was driving toward the school. Jack sat up front with Hal. The rain was coming down in sheets, so visibility was limited. Everyone instinctively stayed quiet so that Hal could concentrate on driving.

Hal had explained that driving to Pensacola was not an option and that Derek would have to stay in Gulf Breeze until the weather improved, but it was only showing signs of getting worse at the moment. Instead, Derek opted to go to the school and help treat the wounded people in the medical building.

About halfway to the school, Hal pulled the SUV over to check on some stranded motorists. He and Jack got out of the car to assess the situation and see if anyone had been injured. Derek saw them talking to a man. After some debate and examination, they appeared to decide that the car was not drivable. Derek watched as the men opened the door and helped the man out of the car. They took his bags from him, and the man reached back into the car. He pulled out a little girl about five years old and a baby in an infant carrier.

As they approached the SUV, Derek threw his bags into the back of the car to make room for them and then leaned over and opened the door for them. The man picked up his daughter and put her in the car. Her eyes were wide as she noticed Derek, but that didn't stop her from screaming. In fact, she might have gotten louder. She had been yelling at the top of her lungs since she left their car—probably before. Derek just hadn't been able to hear her over the storm. She was terribly upset, and her father didn't seem to be able to calm her down. He was busy trying to soothe the baby, and it was obvious he was more than a little stressed out.

After a few minutes of the nerve-rattling noise, Derek leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I bet you think Jasmine is the prettiest princess." Then he turned and looked out the window as if he had forgotten about talking to her at all.

Stunned, the little girl stopped screaming long enough to eye him suspiciously. Derek looked over at her. "Belle is my favorite," he said matter-of-factly before pretending to ignore her again. "Mine, too," the little girl said, a bit in awe of this grown-up man knowing so much about princesses.

"My name's Derek," he said extending his hand to her, "Which princess are you?" She blinked and then smiled at him, "My name is Suze," she said, "I'm not a real princess."

"Well you look like one to me," he said, smiling over at her. By the time they arrived at the school, the adorable little girl was holding Derek's hand and chatting happily with him. He had learned that her mother had been unable to get home from Gulf Breeze and that the child was just missing her and worried about her. "Lots of nieces and nephews," he said, reassuring her father that he was just trying to calm her down. The man appeared to be truly grateful. Derek had told her that he wasn't used to storms like this and asked her to hold his hand because he was scared. From that point on, she was the bravest little girl in town.

When they arrived at the school, Suze's dad thanked Derek profusely and Suze gave him a huge bear hug. He promised to check in on them later. Suze took her father's hand and led him into the building. Derek smiled at the brave little girl as they left. Hal told him that he was impressed with his work with Suze and grateful that she had stopped screaming. Derek muttered his thanks as they made their way into the school that was serving as the town's emergency shelter.

Once inside, Derek checked several injured people. Nobody seemed badly hurt. Once it was clear that there was no work for him there, Hal had Jack take him to the emergency building. Jack took him there and then returned to the school to help set up more cots.

Derek was stunned as the walked into the building. In that small space, there were at least ten patients left with bad injuries that had not been treated. As he made his way through the space noticing all the work that needed to be done, he got angry. To top it all off, one of the patients was being watched by a sleeping deputy. He started ranting a bit as he walked. This was not adequate medical care. This was an outrage. These people would be better off back in the school building instead of just parked on stretchers and in need of serious medical treatment.

By the time he entered the last room in the small building, he was demanding to speak with the doctor. He asked the nurse who was checking on the sole patient in the room where the doctor was. He continued about how there were people with broken bones and other injuries left unattended and how those people need medical care.

Continuing to checking on patient without looking up, the woman told him coldly that she was the doctor.

Stunned, he took a closer look at her and noticed her for the first time. She looked small and delicate, with beautiful hair. Then she glanced up at him with the most remarkable grey-green eyes he'd ever seen. Despite the fact that they were glaring at him, he was held captive and unable to think or breathe until she looked back down to continue checking on her patient.

She'd heard his tirade from down the hall. Where did he get off criticizing her? She'd been working her ass off just to save these people's lives and she'd done it all solo—well, with only Randy and Jim to help and that wasn't much help at all. She'd trained all of the part-time deputies in the basics of scrubbing in and recognizing instruments—so that she would have a little help when the occasion arose. Hal was the best nurse in the bunch, but he always seemed to be occupied. So she made do with whatever extra pair of hands she had. And that meant giving the anesthesia, performing surgery with minimal diagnostic and monitoring equipment, and moving on to the next critical patient as soon as possible. There wasn't always time to set broken bones or stitch up smaller wounds. She'd get back to those things once the most critical patients were no longer in danger of dying. No, it wasn't ideal, but it was all she could do and she knew that nobody, not even this smartass stranger could have done any better. No matter who he was.

"You are the doctor?" he asked. He was so struck by her beauty that it came out sounding differently. He had been surprised—amazed in a good way, but his voice sounded more shocked and disbelieving.

If she ever lost control, one would have said that something snapped, but she never lost control. She did, however, get angry-extremely angry. She stormed over and got in his face, backing him up against the wall and yelling about how in this modern century women could be anything they wanted—even surgeons—and that most were better than men. Then she told him to get out. When he just stood there, she continued, "I don't need some sexist pig of a pansy-ass metrosexual second-guessing my work. You need a doctor? Stay and wait in line. Otherwise, get the hell out of here!"

After the shock of her anger had hit him, Derek had been assaulted by his body's response to the beautiful creature huffing at him from such a short distance. And she smelled so nice… Trying to recover from the onslaught of her words and her presence, Derek was puffing up and ready to retort when Hal entered the room.

"Mer?" Hal asked. "You OK?" He'd heard the yelling and had come in to assist, knowing that Meredith likely didn't need any help.

"Fine. Get this jackass out of here," she barked.

"No. I can help," Derek offered sincerely while assuming she'd still want him to leave.

Hal put a hand on his shoulder, "She wants you out, you're out."

"Hal?" Jack said, as he ran into the room. "We just got a call that there are more injuries and people to pick up over at the Johnson place. Pete and Skip might need our help."

"I'll be back," Hal said as he looked at Derek in warning. "You'd better apologize for whatever you did and stay the hell out of her way. Got it?"

"Yeah," Derek responded sheepishly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Here is the next chapter! Thank you all for the feedback, your messages made me smile. Feel free to let me know what you think :)**

Chapter Eight

The silence in the room was deafening. She was pointedly ignoring him as she worked. He stood there immobile with his mouth dry and his heart skipping beats watching her work skillfully, as he tried to figure out an appropriate apology. Derek didn't apologize often. He made a habit of not being wrong. He was smart, careful, and skilled, so he rarely had things for which he needed to apologize. And despite his rather large neurosurgeon's ego, he was also a considerate and generally nice guy, so his demeanor and his interactions with people didn't give him much practice apologizing, either. So he was searching, grasping for words that would undo some of the damage he'd done. And he was failing at that task.

But right now, it really wasn't the lack of practice that had him mentally stuttering as he attempted his apology. He was more concerned about his inability to speak if he were again to encounter those grey-green eyes.

 _Well there's a light in your eye that keeps shining_

 _Like a star that can't wait for the night_

 _I hate to think I've been blinded baby_

 _Why can't I see you tonight?_

She sat and worked without distraction, always the consummate professional. Work before feelings, work before pride. Work before kicking this jerk's ass back out of state where he belonged. Neurosurgeon, huh? Well he was the one standing there and looking unprepared to contribute or help. Wait a minute...

She stood up and ripped off her gloves. Since she was under anesthesia already, Jessie wouldn't likely mind waiting a few more minutes to have her badly broken arm set. Getting up quickly, Meredith strode over to the stranger and took his hand and pulling him into the next room. As she had approached him, he had attempted to speak, but the moment her hand touched his, he grew quiet. He found speech to be a higher skill for which he had no ability. His mind was screaming so many things at him at once that he was nearly dizzy. He was completely helpless and had to follow her wherever she was taking him.

 _And the warmth of your smile starts a-burnin'_

 _And the thrill of your touch gives me fright_

 _And I'm shaking so much, really yearning_

 _Why don't you show up, make it alright?_

 _Yeah, it's all right._

Meredith dragged him into the next room and pulled him over to the patient that lay there. Dropping his hand and leaving him reeling from the loss of its warmth and her contact, she began rattling off the patient's vitals, what she'd done to take care of him, and what she needed him to do. Finished with what she needed to say, she turned to leave the room, hurrying past him to where her patient was waiting.

 _And you thought it was only in movies_

 _As you wish all your dreams would come true_

 _It ain't the first time believe me, baby_

 _I'm standing here feeling blue_

 _Yeah I'm blue_

As she passed him, he reached out and caught her elbow, slowing her progress and making her turn to face him. He was again plummeting into a bottomless pit the moment that those mesmerizing eyes locked on his.

"What!" she barked, annoyed that he was touching her and keeping her there.

 _Now I will stand in the rain on the corner_

 _I'll watch the people go shuffling downtown_

 _Another ten minutes no longer_

 _And then I'm turning around_

 _The clock on the wall's moving slower_

 _My heart it sinks to the ground_

 _And the storm that I thought would blow over_

 _Clouds the light of the love that I found_

He looked at her intently and tilted his head a bit to one side. Then he smiled at her, a wistful, apologetic, heart-stopping smile. Internally, she took a very deep breath and then she set her jaw. Not so patiently, she waited for the apology and the groveling. She would not think about anything else that smile conveyed. She could will herself not to focus on that.

"I...," he began, his voice shaky. "I'm really very sorry. I..."

She cut him off. It would be best to stick to the matters at hand. "Willy needs another exam. He might have spinal damage. I did the best I could, but I'm no neurosurgeon. Films from the portable CT are on the monitor."

"I'll get right on that," he said confidently, increasing his pressure on her elbow just enough to make sure he had her attention.

"I want to be sure you know that I'm apologizing. I was out of line. I am sorry," he said, trying to show her with his expression that he really meant what he was saying.

She blinked hard and steeled herself. No dazzling smiles and tricky words were going to charm her. Not from a jerk like this with his big city maneuvers and smoke and mirrors, a jerk trying to pretend he wasn't.

"Whatever. Just check on Willy. We're the only two doctors here and we'll be busy until the storm's over. We don't have to like each other. You just have to stay out of my way."

And with that, she left the room, already focusing on Jessie's arm and what she needed to do to repair it. With a skill so automatic she didn't even think about it, she slammed closed the door on that tiny corner of her mind that had been tempted to believe he was being sincere. She couldn't read something into the way he looked at her.

 _Now my body is starting to quiver_

 _And the palms of my hands getting wet_

 _I've got no reason to doubt you baby,_

 _It's all a terrible mess_

The man she left behind was more the worse for wear. He'd felt bad enough about the misunderstanding earlier. The fact that she didn't even want his apology made it worse. And that aching, longing, heart-stopping thing he felt whenever she looked at him made it nearly unbearable. Sighing and turning to his patient, he shrugged and went into doctor-mode. Later. I'll try again later, he thought as he pulled out his penlight and checked the patient's pupils.

 _I'll run in the rain till I'm breathless_

 _When I'm breathless I'll run till I drop, hey_

 _The thoughts of a fool's kind of careless_

 _I'm just a fool waiting on the wrong block, oh yeah_

 _Light of the love that I found..._

Fool in the Rain by Led Zeppelin


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

He kept telling himself that he couldn't have been happy just because she had held his hand. He was nearly forty. He was mature, worldly, and way past the point of schoolyard crushes-except that's exactly how he felt as he thought about it. He flexed his hand as he remembered the electricity that had coursed through him when she took it in hers. Well, she hadn't really held it-not in a way that should have made him feel this worked up. It was more accurate to say that she simply used his hand to drag him somewhere. But all he had felt was the warmth of her grasp and amazement at the strength that came from those delicate fingers.

She was a vision-a beautiful, fiery, angry, thin, amazing vision. And he had not been able to concentrate on anything but her since he met her. Well, they actually hadn't even met, had they? He knew who she was, but he had not taken the time to introduce himself before ranting and raving and offending her. Perfect. Just perfect. I'm rude AND ill-mannered. She thinks I'm an ass.

As he glanced over at her, he noticed that his first impression had been accurate. She was beautiful and thin. But she wasn't too thin—not at all. In fact, she had curves that were….luscious….the kind of curves that he wanted to run his tongue around and over. He let his mind wander a bit before snapping himself out of it. Great, Shep. Get a grip. You're horny like a teenager, and she hates you. Perfect. You used to be so good with women.

As he waged his internal battle, Derek didn't notice the few furtive glances he received from the doctor across the room. She was way too focused on her work and more than determined not to let him know that she had glanced at him. But glance she did. More than once.

I was so wrong. He does not have four heads. Only one. And that hair? Seriously? He probably thinks it's appealing. It's messy and it screams "look at this hair." That goes well with the mile high ego and God complex. She pondered a moment before glancing over at him again. Not a bad looking man if he weren't such an arrogant ass. At least he's being quiet. He's almost tolerable from across the room when he's silent. Maybe he'll stay that way.

As he looked at her and imagined doing all the things he wanted to do to her with his tongue and hands and..., Derek looked away quickly. Trying desperately, he was able to stifle most of the lust in his expression—but not all of it, not the gleam in his eye.

If he were honest, he'd admit that he wanted to rush over to her and push her up against the wall and screw her until they both were senseless, but he was the only who was senseless... She acts as if she wants to kill me. She wants to kill me. Murderous women do not want hot sex with people they wish were dead.

Focus. You came down here for medicine and to help storm victims. Getting laid was not part of the plan. Well, not part of the original plan. Despite his efforts, he was having more and more trouble remaining vested in that original plan.

Although he could not resist the urge to look at her, he was more than careful about it. He surely didn't want her to notice how hot he was for her. He had a feeling that she'd just cut off his penis and shove it up his nose before kneeing him in the balls to finish him off.

It took a drastic image like that to shake him out of his steamy thoughts. He sighed a bit. Under normal circumstances, such violence would be the only thing that would stand between them and hot sex. He was good with women. They were drawn to him, and he was skilled at pleasing their minds and their bodies. Well, that was a long time ago, but it had been true.

Years ago, he'd have taken anyone's bet about his abilities. With two weeks to work with, he'd have been able to turn on the charm and wine and dine and seduce nearly any woman. And he would have won the bet with time to spare. But thanks to his newfound stupidity, his options were much less promising now and he only had a short time here-just the storm and a week or two after. Despite the fact that most of his brain and all of his body were screaming that he wanted hot sex with her. Soon. Now. Yesterday.

You just had to go and bluster and make her hate you, didn't you? He sighed softly again as he realized how screwed he was. He had only the slightest hope left and it was just the tiniest sliver of a piece of a glimpse of a hope. He could only hope that hating him would make her horny, too.


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry for the wait, I had to go out of town for a few days. Here's the new chapter!**

Chapter Ten

Having two surgeons on hand—even though one appeared to hate the other and the other was on testosterone overload—was certainly more efficient than only having one. With her last surgery completed and not having to worry about Willy anymore, Meredith was free to tend to smaller cuts and injuries like regular broken bones. She worked skillfully and quickly to attend to her patients. When she had wrapped up most of the work and had sent the patients into the recovery room so that Jack could clean and sterilize the surgical room, she ambled back over into the other room where the visiting doctor was at work. Leaning against the doorframe, she watched as the doctor meticulously examined his patient for what clearly was not the first time. She could tell by his concentration and the precision of his movements that he was a good surgeon. He also appeared to be much less of an ass when he was actually working.

Caught up in assessing him from afar, Meredith reached up to stifle a yawn. The doctor noticed the movement in his peripheral vision and motioned for her to come in. He found that talking to her was much simpler when he was in surgeon mode. He just pretended she was someone he worked with back home, "Look at that scan," he said, nodding toward the scan put up for viewing. "What do you see?"

"A spot. Right there," she said quickly. "It's small, and it might be nothing," she continued.

"Or it might be a clot that could do some serious damage," he said, as he examined the patient.

"What are you going to do?" she asked as she stared at the scans.

"It's too close to call. He needs an MRI."

She agreed with him, but that didn't get them anywhere, "We don't have an MRI. That's not possible."

"Well how am I supposed to diagnose his problem without the appropriate testing?" he asked in frustration.

"Follow your instincts," she said matter-of-factly, as she crossed the room to the door.

"Look," he said, stopping her where she stood, "I'm the one of the best in my field. I'm damned good at what I do. But I'd rather know with more certainty before I cut open his spine and risk surgery that could do more damage than it does good."

"Well, Willy here decided to do a stupid thing and leave himself without optimal choices. There is no MRI, and there's no way to get him to one. I can help you try for a better shot on the portable CT, but that's the best we can do."

"You know this man. I don't. How can you be so cold in assessing his situation? Why am I the one who's most worried about making the right decision?"

She didn't even bother with arguing with him. She cared about Willy, but that was irrelevant. And the resulting argument would only distract the neurosurgeon from making his decision, "I've done more surgeries outside of the OR than in one. You learn in those situations that you can only do what you can do. Nothing more. You're the neurosurgeon. You are the best tool we have. Use your experience; use your instincts. If you decide to operate, I can assist. If you want to wait and see, that's fine, too. I'm too tired to stand here and debate anymore. Find me if you need my help," she said as she turned again to leave.

"So that's what you were doing out there in the other OR—emergency, field-type triage?" he asked, his curiosity aroused.

"Yeah."

Unable to help stem the sarcasm, he asked, "Is that the going practice here, or did you learn that elsewhere?"

"Elsewhere," she said, leaving the room and ending the discussion. She didn't want to get into that topic of conversation with anyone—least of all him.

He shrugged as he watched her leave. The mystery surrounding that woman did nothing to make her less appealing to him.

After a long debate, Derek decided that Willy had a blood clot and that they needed to do exploratory spinal surgery to find it. He asked one of the deputies to locate Meredith and to tell her that "Dr. Shepherd" needed her help. She came quickly. With no time for pleasantries, they scrubbed in and began the surgery.

Several hours later, they found the clot and removed it. Meredith left, as Derek closed up Willy's back.

After scrubbing out, Derek left the room. "Where's Dr...?"

"Dr. Grey? She's napping," the deputy offered.

"I wanted to thank her for helping me with that surgery."

The deputy nodded back toward the school. Derek walked through the hallway that joined the surgery center to the elementary school. As he entered the school office, he heard Meredith yelling.

"And your deputy here was stupid enough to believe him? Honestly. I swear Barney Fife wouldn't make such a mess of things. We've got to go get them, Hal. They won't be fit for evacuation after this thing hits. There are too many of them. They're all high risk. Look, we're wasting valuable time. If you don't drive the ambulance over there, I'll do it myself," Meredith said, reaching for the keys.

"Stop making a mockery of my deputies, Meredith. Or I'll…I'll throw you in a cell downtown and make you miss out on all the blood and stitching and stuff you love so much."

"If you don't drive me out there, it'll be your blood and stuff that needs stitching, Hal," she said, not giving an inch.

Derek watched as the pair had a wordless conversation. He wasn't sure what it was about, but he had his suspicions. He saw Hal challenging Meredith about something as he glared at her and clenched his fists while Meredith stayed stubborn and returned his glare as if to make her point. She slowly won the silent battle.

"Dammit, let's go," Hal muttered as he put his rain gear back on. He grabbed another set for Meredith and made her put them on. He motioned for one of the deputies to follow them. Leaning over to Butch, he whispered something before the three left the building. Hal glanced at Derek on his way out, his concern for Meredith evident in his defeated expression. Derek shivered a bit as they left.

"What's that all about?" Derek asked Butch once the crowd had cleared.

Butch sighed and turned to explain, "Vincent Polk runs a nursing home east of town. It's in an old Victorian house with a few wings added onto the back-houses about 20 people when it's full. Stupid cheapskate lied to Hal. Hal told him to evacuate, and he didn't—he was too cheap to pay for ambulances to deliver his patients to the school. Said he had planned to charter a bus and have them taken into Pensacola. Gave his word. But he didn't do it. Lied when Jack stopped by and said they'd all been evacuated. One of the patients called us to tell us they're all still out there. So those two and Jack have gone to evacuate the patients."

"But they can't all fit into an ambulance."

"No. It will take several trips. But they'll get them," Butch said, sounding as if he were trying to believe that statement himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Here is the new update! Hope you all are having a wonderful weekend, sorry for the wait. I'm going to try updating this story every week, crossing my fingers. Please read and let me know what you think, love hearing from you! To Jane, who messaged me, your kind words mean a lot to me. I am so glad you are enjoying this story :)**

Chapter Eleven

A little more than an hour later, the ambulance returned with a load full of about nine patients, three of whom were on gurneys. The storm was really heating up, so it took all free hands to help unload those who had arrived. Derek was among those working to take the elderly people into the shelter.

The ambulance finally empty, Derek realized that Meredith had not returned with the ambulance. "Where is she?" Derek asked. Hal grimaced but said nothing. As the sheriff talked to his deputies, Derek made the rounds and observed that there were no surgery-worthy patients on hand. Having completed his work, he disappeared for a few minutes before returning carrying two bags.

As Hal announced that he was leaving for another run to the nursing home, Derek stepped forward and said that he was going, too. Hal looked at him questioningly until he held up what appeared to be one of Meredith's bags. Nobody else was volunteering to help. Shrugging his assent but saying nothing, Hal got into the ambulance. Derek followed.

It wasn't until the ambulance pulled out away from the partial shelter of the school that Derek realized how bad the storm really was. Visibility was at a minimum and gusts of wind rocked the ambulance. Derek was certain that they would have flipped a smaller vehicle or pushed it off the road. It was slow, treacherous going. When the lightning flashed or the rain abated for a rare moment, Derek could see that most of the trees were bent sideways. This was one hell of a storm. He was grateful that Hal knew where he was going. He had a feeling that navigation was more about knowing the path than about seeing and following it.

Hal noticed his passenger observing the stormy conditions. His eyes still locked on the road, he said, "Storm's about three hours away. This is going to be a big one. I'm worried about how close the eye of the storm will come to us. The way it looks now, we'll get hit pretty hard on the front and back end."

"It will be much worse than this?" Derek asked, amazed by one of the worst storms he had ever seen.

"Yeah," Hal muttered. A thoughtful silence fell between them.

 _I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone_

 _All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity_

 _Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind._

 _Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea_

 _All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see_

Hal was the one to interrupt the silence. "Why did you want to come? Do you have a death wish?"

Derek looked over at him a moment before returning his gaze to the storm outside, "You mean come to help FEMA or come with you now?"

"Both," Hal replied honestly.

"I...I needed to do something to make a difference. I needed to help people," Derek said, remembering how desperate he had been to make this trip. He knew the man beside him didn't know him, and he really didn't want to get into the details. He hoped that explanation would be sufficient. It wasn't.

"Doing surgery in NY isn't doing that?" Hal couldn't help asking.

"Not lately. I needed to do more," Derek said as quietly as he could and still be heard with the storm raging around them.

"So why this trip in the ambulance?" Hal asked a bit later, "Need some serious action?"

Derek shrugged, "Everyone at the center seems fine. The EMTs who came back earlier can handle the medical problems that come up until we get back. I can help you load the residents." Derek paused a few moments before adding, "And I can stay with Dr. Grey until you return for us."

Hal looked over at him suspiciously. He was struck by the fact that someone else seemed to have protecting Meredith in mind. Despite his responsibilities and activity, it had been the only thing he had thought about since he pulled out for the first run to the nursing home. Derek returned his gaze, "It was obvious based on that last load that there won't be room for all of us," he said seriously.

"Maybe not," Hal said doubtfully. He sat for a while pondering what he was going to do. He and Meredith had argued about this all the way to the nursing home. She had cursed so much that Jack had blushed. And that shouldn't have been possible—that man had heard almost everything.

 _Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind_

It was more than frustrating. The more Hal tried to protect her, the more obstinate she became. He knew she was lying to him. She insisted that they'd all pile into the small ambulance on this next trip so that they'd all be able to return safely to the shelter, but he knew how cramped and crowded the vehicle would be. With at least two or three stretchers and four more wheelchairs, it would be hard to squeeze in everyone else. They had even more passengers this time. It didn't look good.

What troubled Hal the most was the look on Meredith's face. He could tell that she was mentally prepping for battle, and he knew she considered that she'd already won the skirmish with him. She looked like a person resigned to riding out the storm in the most dangerous place she could find. She always got more daring during storms, and it was all he could do to rein her in with all of this other responsibilities. Despite her efforts to hide it, she'd been acting as if she were trapped in the shelter once there were no serious medical distractions. She had leapt at the opportunity to escape the safety of the shelter and she didn't care that he knew that's what she was doing. It scared the hell out of him, but his desire to protect her was as overwhelming as her urge to run from it.

Deciding that he'd try confiding in this stranger since he had nobody else to talk to about it, Hal finally vented about his worries, "She's trying to stay there alone. She turns a little crazy...no, a lot crazy in a storm. Something from her past. Something about proving that she can face a storm. She won't talk about it, but I know that's what she's trying to do. She knows I won't leave her there alone, but she also won't let me stay with her. She pulls all that "the town needs its sheriff" crap. And she's stubborn as hell, did I mention that she's stubborn?"

Derek flashed an ironic grin at his driver. "I believe I have been introduced to that stubborn streak of hers. It's quite charming," he said chuckling.

Hal laughed in spite of himself. They could relate victim-to-victim on this topic. "You," he added, "she might let stay. No offense, but I don't think she'll worry too much about you being in danger."

"I think I'm most in danger from her," Derek blurted out honestly, wincing as he did.

They rode in silence a while longer.

 _[Now] Don't hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky_

 _It slips away, and all your money won't another minute buy._

Again, Hal was the one to speak first. He gripped the steering wheel more tightly and continued, "Meredith is...she's special. She's brave to the point of stupidity and stubborn as an ox, but I...," he stopped abruptly, his emotions threatening to get the better of him. A few moments later, he continued, "We're all crazy about her. She's family. We need her to be safe. I want you to try to help me talk her into making the next trip back."

"Maybe she'll be eager to come back with you if I tell her I'm staying," Derek said with a bit of a grin.

"Maybe, but I doubt it," Hal added. He tensed as he realized that the storm had taken a turn for the worse. His hopes of making another run were slipping away.

"I still haven't made up my mind about whether I'll let either of you stay, but if I do, you realize that there's a chance that you'll be stuck out here...for the duration," he said seriously.

Derek gulped in spite of himself, "Yeah." And my friends and family thought I wasn't spontaneous...

Hal decided that the city boy was either stupid or more brave than he would have given him credit for, "And you're OK with that? It won't be pretty."

"We'll be fine," Derek said as much to himself as to Hal.

"Or she might die and you might be left there alone," Hal added.

All Derek could manage in response was, "Yeah."

"Or you might be killed," Hal said, feeling the need to lay out all the possibilities for this man. "Why are you willing to take that risk?"

Derek sighed and thought for a moment. His mind went back to the conversation he and Meredith had earlier in the surgery center, "Following my instincts. I felt the need to come, that's all. We'll be fine."

 _Dust in the wind, all we are is dust in the wind_

Hal had really good intuition and had made a career out of reading people. He felt he could trust this man. He seemed to be a good doctor, and he had willingly made this trip to help people. He also seemed genuinely concerned for Meredith's safety. There was the matter of that nagging little feeling that his concern for her seemed a bit intense given the fact that they had only met and that Meredith still seemed so angry with him.

"What about leaving us without a surgeon at the shelter?" Hal asked, suddenly thinking of the millionth reason why leaving this man and Meredith at the nursing home would be a bad idea.

"Surely even your staff will have to stay in if this gets any worse. There won't be any more patients being rescued tonight. Everyone is already there and safe. This is your last run, Sheriff. You'll come back to get us as soon as you can. We'll be back before anyone else needs surgery," he said, surprised that he sounded so much more confident than he felt.

"I sure hope so," Hal said as he made the last turn that led to their destination.

 _Dust in the wind, everything is dust in the wind._

Dust in the Wind by Kansas


End file.
